Stacking the Deck
by Snickerer
Summary: An unlikely recipient receives an unusual message. Severe spoilers for TUE. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Don't own this lot, either.

Argh. First plotbunny I've been able to locate in two and a half months, and naturally not only is it not for one of the stories I want to be working on, it's another bloody fandom altogether.

**WARNING: SEVERE SPOILERS FOR THE ULTIMATE ENEMY!  
**Seriously, it doesn't /get/ much more spoilerish than this! If you haven't seen it and want to find out for yourself...do it before reading this. Please.

As per usual, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.

* * *

Lancer somehow knew it was a dream even though the surroundings were familiar, the opposite of the way a dream of dancing purple fish and talking shoes can seem normal at the time. 

At least it wasn't the nightmare about the chalkboards from Halloween.

It wasn't much more pleasant, though. A vague impression of something about the CAT, which placed this in the past. Himself and a few students, including one of his best and brightest, and somehow her parents as well. A strong ghost, one clearly taking pleasure in destruction. Himself in the dream, anxious, immediately realizing that the only sensible thing to do was to try to get away from the ghost. This one was _bad_, more violent and blatantly, gleefully, deliberately destructive than the ones that were often at the school. He didn't know why and frankly didn't care. He and the others were obviously far, far outclassed, and their best chance was to get away, or at least buy time for themselves until someone else got there to help. Maybe the Red Hunter, or even that ghost kid, since whatever else he might be, he tended to distract other ghosts. Leaving aside the question of what side they were on, ghosts fighting each other was definitely better than them focusing on humans, since collateral damage was a lot easier to dodge than targeted attacks.

He couldn't do much and he knew it, but the redhead and her parents managed to distract the malevolent spirit. Good! If they could keep it stalled…

Then the horrifying revelation as the specter laughed, laughed, revealed that it was their absent son, her brother. His own student.

What he would become.

_No…!_

The boy didn't shine like his sister, neglected his studies, was disrespectful, and was generally a sub-par student, but…he wasn't _bad_. His heart was in the right place, even if he tended to lose his way and get muddled and act far too much on impulse. What could turn him into a ghost like this, such a powerful ghost, a ghost that would turn on his own family? A ghost that would snare them in a deathtrap without a second thought, fastening them all to a tank of explosive chemicals by a clearly visible uncontained heating element to watch and laugh as they felt time running out. A ghost who would wait for the explosion, taking malicious delight in their coming deaths.

Why?

Revenge on them for letting him die?

Revenge for letting him become a ghost, one of the things they hunted and which had tormented him throughout his time in high school?

But why come back in time to do it? That's what those cryptic comments about being the inevitable future seemed to imply, at any rate, and debating the impossibility of time travel seemed rather silly when there was awfully persuasive evidence of the paranormal floating in front of you.

What…? What had the specter just said? He was – _had been_ - half ghost? But that meant-

And then the ghost kid appeared, slamming the ghoul away from them.

The same symbol on their chests. The realization taking Lancer's breath away behind the ectoplasmic gag.

The boy – his own student, who apparently wasn't so ordinary after all – apologizing to them, promising never to let that happen to him, promising never to become the monster. Swearing to save them.

He had been right about that much. The boy's heart was definitely in the right place.

"I'm guessing this sort of puts my periodic absences in a new light, huh?" The ghost boy sent a wry, apologetic smile at him before being yanked back into the fray.

Oh, did it ever.

How had he never known? The boy had set himself to distract the monsters from his classmates, led them away, distracted them, fought to keep them from being targeted, right in front of him and he hadn't noticed. Now that he thought about it, the clumsiness of a teenage boy showed through, perhaps not physically but certainly mentally in some of the missteps the ghost kid had made, overconfidence or unwise decisions. But he tried, and for the most part succeeded, all the more remarkable given the revelation that he was not a superhero, not even a supernatural creature, just a teenager doing the best he could with what he had.

And now he was fighting what had to be anyone's worst nightmare, the manifestation of the worst you could possibly be. His own distorted projection.

For them.

And, impossibly, winning out, despite collapsing, familiar and human in battered t-shirt and jeans. Lancer had to drastically revise his judgment of the boy these past years. To have that kind of power and not to have used it on his peers when they tormented him? To not have used his alter ego to get special treatment at school, whether from himself or from the other students?

Although…apparently not above using his _abilities_ to get around him. Lancer's eyes narrowed as certain incidents suddenly made more sense. How the boy had disappeared from detention, for example, or how he'd ended up in that broom closet without knowing how he'd gotten there. Oh, they had a lot to discuss, all right.

And yet…the boy's reasons also became clearer. He supposed his desperation to get away was more understandable if it was to rescue his friends and family or even the town in general from whatever was attacking this time.

His friends…they had to have known. They'd been covering for him. Lancer found it was actually oddly comforting to realize that a lot of the insults and disrespect he'd endured from the boy and his friends had to have been faked to cover for what was really going on. And with ghost hunters for parents, perhaps the boy's reluctance to confide in anyone, much less a teacher who was, to be honest, not a very sympathetic authority figure, was…well. He could see the point.

But their time had run out, he could feel it. And yet the boy was still running _toward_ the imminent explosion, obviously on his last reserves, eyes wide and desperate…

He had to know he wouldn't make it. But he was still trying anyway.

_He's a good kid._

"Yes. He is."

The explosion halted, melted away. His surroundings dissolved to black, reminiscent of a projection fading to a blank screen when the projector turned off and the lights came on. And hovering in the blackness was another figure.

Another ghost.

He'd never encountered this one before. He'd have remembered.

This one had pale blue skin and red eyes that were somehow less menacing and more…impassive than those of other ghosts he'd seen, despite the jagged black scar running down below one eye. The ghost wore a pale violet hooded cloak and carried a staff topped with a clock. A beat, and Lancer noticed what looked like a small stopped grandfather clock on the ghost's chest and what looked like watchbands adorning each of his gloves. The new ghost met his eyes, red gaze calm.

"He is," he repeated quietly. "And he will need you to remember that."

"Who are you?" Lancer was mildly surprised and gratified that the only emotion in his tone was honest curiosity. The ghost's expression didn't change, but Lancer got a sense of mild approval.

"I am Clockwork. Master of Time."

"You're the one who showed me…that." Lancer's tone was almost as even as the ghost's.

Clockwork nodded.

Lancer couldn't help the thought that he would be a horrible choice of poker opponent. "Why?"

"Because it happened."

Lancer started to reply, and then shook his head. "No! No, it didn't. The CAT was months ago. I would have remembered if something like that had happened. Not to mention…" he fell silent, thoughts straying unbidden to the look he'd gotten into the boy's soul, deeper than he really knew how to deal with.

And now Clockwork did smile slightly, even as his appearance shifted to that of old age. "No. Because it was made not to happen, and only one other remembers what would have been."

Lancer almost asked who, but stopped. He knew who it had to be, of course. It wasn't difficult to guess.

"But why make me remember?" he asked instead.

"Because he will need someone who will know him for who he is. Someone who will understand why and what he is fighting for. And it is impossible to fully understand him without knowledge of that incident."

"Why me? His friends were there as well, surely they would be more appropriate. Or better yet, his family!"

"Everything with them is already exactly how it is supposed to be."

The two traded stares for a moment, and Clockwork eventually relented, continuing, "And he will need that sort of faith from someone not obligated to give it to him."

"He's my student. Of course I'm obligated."

"Are you?" The aged-seeming ghost quirked an eyebrow. "Do you really endorse everything your students do? I was rather under the impression that concern about his ethics was what led to your being present for that incident in the first place."

To that, Lancer had no answer.

"We've taught him not to cheat." The blue-skinned ghost smiled faintly as his form shifted to child size, though his calm voice did not change. "It doesn't mean we can't stack the deck for him. Though I see it more as leveling the playing field."

The dream around him was growing indistinct, but the ghost's matter-of-fact gaze and calm voice stayed clear.

"He has many trials ahead of him. And there are forces massing against him that he is unaware of. It is only fair that he should have some allies that he is unaware of as well."

The dream faded out entirely now, but the ghost's last parting words echoed in Lancer's mind.

"He will need all the help he can get."

* * *

Any and all comments welcomed. Criticism actively solicited. 

And those of you who have recently watched the five minutes in question might notice some slight...modifications. Plotbunnies say that's because Clockwork was trying to present it in such a way that Lancer would have an easier time grasping what was going on.

And this _is_ a oneshot. I do mean it. 


End file.
